


Themes and Variations

by malu (orphan_account)



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/malu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random MotoGP requests and follow ups ;)</p><p>1. Enea/Johan, reaching E-rating as promised ;)<br/>2. Vale/Jorge, Vale gets his hoodie back. Or maybe not. Maybe he gets something better?<br/>3. Dani/Jorge, an unexpected aftermath of a memorable press conference<br/>4. Dani/Vale/Marc, follows after "Obey", Marc doesn't like sharing...<br/>5. Marc/Jorge, follows "Atonement" (spanking scene as requested)<br/>6. Dani/Jorge, more consequences from the "beautiful night" arise...<br/>7. Various ;) - the night after Aragon 2015<br/>8. Marc/Jorge - Post-Aragon continued<br/>9. Johann/Enea - Post-Motegi (I/IV, I'll do the other couples ASAP ♥)<br/>10. Vale/Jorge - More from the 'hoodie-verse' ;)<br/>11. Marc/Jorge - Post Motegi (II/IV)<br/>12. Marc/Vale - Because... ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the 'dumping ground' for the follow ups from "Here I go again" and then maybe (hopefully) additional randomness from a jumpy squirrel.
> 
>  
> 
> **Not real. Just playing.**
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm very sorry this took longer than I thought it would and I'll be around tomorrow to reply to everyone! (Assen was REALLY GOOD though. Much needed happiness after Mantova and Oschersleben.)

Johan successfully bans Assen from his memory. He enjoys his summer break, continues a season that’s somehow going so far better than his expectations. He hooks up with someone in a night club, has a few dates with a girl his friends want to set him up with. All in all, life is going well, he thinks. And that kiss, stolen between motorhomes and trucks, it’s faded into a distant memory. They’d both broken apart, shell-shocked, before hurrying away, good-byes barely mumbled. Every once in a blue moon, Johan relives it in his dreams, always waking up a bit aroused but mostly embarrassed. Still, he assumes the dreams will vanish over time. And it’s better that way.

And then Brno happens – and it changes everything. Not that it starts out unusual. That alone, it’s weird, how his victory is nothing special anymore, just is the expected outcome of a routinely delivered Sunday. Nor is his “evening low”, that moment were he thinks he should be happy but somehow ends up feeling so very, very tired instead, a new experience. Obviously. What’s new is that when he’s back in their hotel, walking up to his room, he’s basically attacked, his back slammed against the nearest wall.

”It’s all your fault, you know that, right?” An unsteady voice hisses and slurs, right next to his ear.

Johan tries to process things quickly, recognizes the voice and still needs a moment to grasp everything. And well, he figures, whatever the other is blaming him for, it’s probably true.

”I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ he stutters, never getting to finish the sentence as the other leans up, crashing their mouths together with his hand behind Johan’s head.

It takes his breath away, all his blood rushes down and he’d probably fall down with his knees like jelly, if he wasn’t pressed up against a wall by a surprisingly strong Italian who tastes a lot like cheap rum and on him, it’s the sweetest taste Johan has ever come across.

Maybe it’s seconds, or possibly it’s hours, of passionate making out, of unruly noises, little moans and hands roaming under shirts, when Johan’s brain finally manages to kick back in, shouting at him angrily. He breaks away, pushing Enea back and holding him by the shoulders. While Johan pants and works on forming words, the younger stares at him full of defiance.

”We need to talk,” the older manages to say eventually, his voice coming out husky. He quickly lowers his gaze, the young man in front of him with his messy hair and the flushed cheeks doing things to Johan that are completely and utterly inappropriate.

”Talk? I don’t want to talk,” the Italian glares daggers at him. “That’s the entire fault, you know? Ever since Assen, I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I want to hold you and kiss you and then have you push me into the next mattress and have your way with me. And I’m not even gay. You know that? I’m not gay, Johan.”

Enea’s voice is bordering on hysterical and Johan does the first sensible thing that comes to his mind, feeling lucky they haven’t been caught yet and not planning on being found here, like this, ever. He pushes the boy forward, passes him, opens his room and then pulls the younger inside, all within a matter of seconds.

He’s barely closed the door behind them when he sees Enea shed his shirt. This time, he has to sit down, unceremoniously falls into a chair.

”Enea, what the hell are you doing there?” He should be screaming, but all he manages is an exasperated sigh.

”What? That’s why you took me here,” the other eyes him and Johan notices how Enea’s legs seems wobbly, his arms moving a bit uncoordinatedly, “we’re going to fuck, right?”

”No!” He’s screaming now, his cheeks turning red. Johan jumps from the chair, hands messing with his own hair helplessly and he’s starting to pace the room. “No, that’ s not what’s going to happen.”

”Why?” Enea looks at him, crestfallen. “You don’t want to fuck me?”

_Okay. So you just gave me an erection with a total of six words. What do you think I want to do to you?_

Johan adjusts his pants, hopes it’s discreet and then puts a hand on Enea’s – terrifyingly naked – shoulder, avoiding to look at the toned, tanned chest that screams ‘lick me’. 

”I- of course I do.” Enea’s face lights up and Johan frowns, “No, I don’t. I mean, I can’t. God… why is this so hard?”

He looks at the seemingly confused boy in front of him, who has his hands on his fly and it makes Johan gulp. One by one, his brain cells seem to leave him, his blood needed elsewhere and he struggles to come up with an explanation.

”Listen, I really… you’re cute, I like you, really, Enea. But… we can’t.”

”Why?”

Johan looks at the boy again, looks at the defiant pout, feels all his resistance drain.

”Not now. Not when you’re drunk. Go to your room, sleep. When you wake up and still want to do this, we can talk about it.”

Johan wants to kick himself for opening this window of opportunity, of possibility. They can’t. Not now, not in the morning, not drunk, not sober, not ever.

”At least let me spend the night.”

…Johan isn’t proud of himself, he really isn’t. But he doesn’t have it in him to resist the puppy dog eyes in front of his face and so he ends up with Enea Bastianini, snoring softly and gloriously naked, rolled up on the left side of Johan’s bed, only few parts covered by the thin sheets.

Well, he thinks when he turns off the light, I guess I won’t be sleeping tonight. He settles on the farthest right of the bed, clothed in a T-Shirt and a pair of much tented boxers. And no, Johan doesn’t really sleep. He dozes off a couple of times, but never finds anything like relaxation or recovery. In the early morning, Enea rushes to the bathroom and Johan helps him clean up and settle back on the bed, earning a look so full of affection and gratitude that it almost breaks his heart. And then, at some point before dawn, he does drift away.

When he wakes up, the sun has risen and light is streaming in. And Enea is sitting next to him, back against the headboard. The boy watches him expectantly and Johan sees his tan skin, his broad chest and feels things stir under the sheets again already.

”Good morning,” he mumbles, still squinting against the bright daylight, “feeling okay?”

Enea nods. Johan thinks it must be a perk of his youthfulness, the instant recovery where Johan would be hungover for days.

”I’m sober now.”

Enea’s voice sounds calm, measured. Johan can’t reply.

”You can fuck me now.”

It’s wrong, so very wrong. But there’s only so much self-restraint, Johan thinks. And so he doesn’t resist when Enea’s hands pull his shirt away. He doesn’t resist when he’s pulled in for another passionate kiss. And he still doesn’t resist when Enea shoves his boxers down. On the contrary, Johan very willingly helps by wriggling out of the annoying fabric.

When he props himself up over Enea, taking in the vision under him, the beautiful boy, the way he’s bucking up against Johan’s thigh already, obviously eager, Johan’s last doubts are wiped away. There’s no doubt Enea wants this as much as Johan does. Maybe unconsciously has been craving for too long now.

Johan reaches for the nightstand, sits back on Enea’s legs and then takes both of them in his lubed hand. The needy whine falling from Enea’s mouth, that sound alone would have been worth all of this including going to hell. And it only gets better. Johan watches the boy intently, the way his head starts thrashing from one side to the other, his knuckles turning white from gripping the sheets, the noises he makes growing more and more desperate. It’s absolutely gorgeous and incredibly hot and yes, it’s the best sex of his life, even if some wouldn’t count it as real sex. Johan more than would.

When Enea comes, it’s with a surprisingly low growl, one that makes heat coil in Johan’s lap, that makes him follow the Italian close behind, his own moan coming out too loud, probably heard by their neighbors. In this moment, he couldn’t care less. He just falls back on the mattress, his blood rushing in his head, his vision blurred and his brain short circuiting. 

”I’m not even gay, you know?” Enea mumbles, suddenly sounding sleepy again, burying his head in the crook of Johan’s neck and Johan can feel the other’s smile against his skin.

”No, of course you’re not,” the older says with a chuckle, “I’m sure you didn’t enjoy that one bit.”

He yelps when Enea bites his neck, then bursts into almost hysterical laughter.

”This is absolutely fucking crazy, you know that, right?” Johan pants when he manages to stop giggling.

”Yeah,” Enea curls up around him and it feels so good and Johan almost forgets what he said, “Yeah, I know it’s crazy. But so is riding corners at 100 miles per hour with your knee touching the tarmac, so I don’t think I care.”

So, Johan might have fallen for a teenager, but at least he picked a very smart one. And Johan, now cuddled up against the boy of his dreams, thinks he doesn’t care either, not one bit.


	2. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jorge/Vale follow up... what happens when Vale tries to get his hoodie back?

It’s been a few years since he’s done this; since he’s been sneaking around the motorhomes in the darkness, trying to hide inside of his hoodie. Well. Another one of his hoodies. Because _that_ hoodie is still in his favorite enemy’s motorhome. Which happens to be right in front of him now. And he’s terrified.

If someone asked him, he couldn’t quite say why, couldn’t even tell whether he’s scared of the invite being a joke or if he’s hoping it’s a joke. He couldn’t say if he’s more afraid of the implication that he’s here, wanting to… well, hook up with a man. Or the fact that said man is Jorge Lorenzo. And in the end, it’s not like Vale is capable of thinking straight _and oh, great pun_ anymore anyway.

He’s contemplating leaving, walking back to his own motorhome. He could curl up under the sheets, watch some porn and finish himself off. No strings attached. No problems. Only, the second he’s made the decision to turn around and flee towards safety, the door opens and his teammates grins at him, looking entirely too smug for Vale’s taste.

”You know, this thing happens to have a door… and if you’d just knock, I’d let you in,” Jorge says, smirking, voice kind of rumbly. Since when does Jorge Lorenzo’s voice send shivers down his spine anyway?

”Hi,” he says, feeling way too shy for the reputation that he knows he has. He follows Jorge inside and on his way, realizes that there’s one tiny detail that should make him more confident. Because the only way Jorge could have known that he’s lurking outside would have been if Jorge had been looking for him. And that implies that at least something of what Vale had felt before the press conference could be mutual. And, Vale wonders with his guts suddenly twisting, there had always been these rumors about Jorge and Ricky. So really, this wouldn’t come off as a surprise, right?

”So,” Jorge leans back against the wall, arms folded in front of his chest, “did you like what you saw?”

Jorge’s eyes are darker than normal, staring at Vale’s face intently, scrutinizing him. It makes the older squirm and lower his gaze, while he feels his cheeks turn red.

”Sorry, I-“ he croaks, feeling miserable, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

”I don’t really mind,” _Is Jorge Lorenzo purring? Is my teammate seriously flirting with me?_ “But you haven’t answered my question yet.”

”I- yes,” Vale thinks his face is hot enough to self-combust any second now, “I liked, uh, what I saw.”

”Uh-huh, I kind of figured…”

Jorge still has that smirk on his face and if he wasn’t so uncomfortable, Vale would consider punching it away. _And anyway, if you had figured it out, why’d you grill me? Is that your revenge or what?_

”Are you going to just stand there and squirm for the rest of the night?” Jorge raises an eyebrow, “Or would you rather leave? Because I thought my invitation had been explicit enough and since you turned up, I kind of expected this to be heading somewhere.”

Vale gulps. _Heading somewhere._ It’s what he thought this was about. Maybe even hoped. But now, in this very moment, he feels tremendously helpless.

”Sorry, I think… I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

He stammers and stares at his feet, still wishing the ground could swallow him and his brain short-circuiting. Most of his remaining clear thoughts end up revolving around Jorge and how Jorge is a man and how Vale just has no clue about these things. All the while, flashbacks from the early afternoon pop up in his head, Jorge’s hands on Jorge’s toned abs, Jorge’s moans, the way the water was running over Jorge’s back.

”I never thought I’d hear a sentence like that from you,” Jorge chuckles and his voice is suddenly much closer, the younger having stepped next to Vale. Jorge puts his hands on Vale’s shoulders and the touch burns, even through the hoodie.

”I was just teasing you,” Jorge whispers, one hand running into Vale’s hair, resting on the back of his head and forcing him to look down a bit, their foreheads now resting against each other. “Sorry, consider it payback for watching without asking me first. But really, I’ve been dreaming about this happening for a while now, Valentino. So please, don’t mess with me. Not about this. If you don’t want to stay, leave now.”

_Dreaming about this for a while? What the fuck? You’ve been fighting me like hell for years, always doing everything possible to annoy me and get in my way and – oh…_ It hits him out of the blue, the memory of that English phrase he’d seen in a movie and that Uccio had to translate for him… pulling a girl’s pigtails. _Is that what you’ve been doing, Jorge?_

”A while?” It’s all he manages to stutter out loud, the rest of his thoughts too raw, too messy to be put into a coherent sentence.

”Mhm, longer than you’d think. And this afternoon, when I turned around and saw you walk away, I just… I realized you must have watched and that means you must be intrigued? At least, you weren’t running, or screaming. And I only saw your face for maybe a split-second, but you didn’t look disgusted.” Jorge pauses for a while, before he adds, “And you’re still here. So I’m kind of hopeful.”

_Hopeful?_ Vale feels like his head is spinning out of control. And anywhere, wouldn’t it have been a long-established tradition to invite him for a drink before dropping that bomb? Trust Jorge Lorenzo to be the one person who’d ever manage to wipe away his sanity, on just a regular night, before a race weekend. _This is not some screwed up plan you’ve made with Casey and next thing I know, someone jumps out of a closet holding up a camera?_ Anyway, why are they still standing with their heads touching and why does Jorge’s hand feel so good tangled in his curls and why on earth does Jorge Lorenzo smell so good and damned, is that gooseflesh on his arms?

”I’m- uh- overwhelmed, I think?” Vale offers, honestly unable to say anything else.

Jorge’s free hand runs over his cheek and Vale, unconsciously, leans into the touch, feeling the little spark it sends to his groin.

”You can still leave. Or you stay and we just talk. Have a drink.”

_Now you’re offering me a drink. Great._

”I think I want to stay.” The words leave his mouth without that he really thinks them through, much less debates the consequences. “But I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

”You… you mean you’ve never… with a guy?”

Jorge sounds surprised and that surprises Vale – why would the younger have thought otherwise?

”I kind of thought you and Uccio, you know…” Jorge trails off and Vale shudders. _Uccio?? NO._

He shakes his head and before he can process what’s happening, feels Jorge’s lips on his own.

There’s a million things on his mind, but mostly he’s amazed that Jorge’s lips are actually soft and that there’s a hint of the taste of cigarettes and the rest of him is busy to keep all his blood from rushing to his groin. Because it’s too embarrassing to get hard just from a peck on the lips.

”You know,” Jorge pulls back, stares at him with surprisingly dark eyes, “I’d be okay with it if you wanted to touch me.”

With that, Jorge’s lips are back and yeah, touching doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Vale tentatively puts a hand against Jorge’s waist, the other moving to the Spaniard’s face. The scratch of Jorge’s stubble makes him freeze for a moment, reminds him that yes, he’s actually kissing a guy here, but then Jorge’s tongue runs over his lips and feels so good that Vale doesn’t care anymore.

It’s a long kiss, maybe one of the longest in Vale’s life, at least for not taking place in a bed during _other_ activities. Jorge gives him time, only deepens things slowly, hands not leaving their positions while Vale carefully, with growing curiosity, explores. He tries caressing Jorge’s face and hair, finding it obviously different to the women he’s used to, but amazing nevertheless. And, with lots of courage, he dares to move his other hand to Jorge’s ass, cupping it through the denim of the other’s jeans, finding it firm and sexy. And Jorge gasps when he does it, which is a nice boost for Vale’s ego. His lips part willingly when Jorge’s tongue wants further and it’s good. More than that. It sends all the right shivers down Vale’s spine and makes his stomach flutter just like it should. And when Jorge, after many, many minutes and several small breaks for air, steps that final bit closer, their bodies touching from shoulders to knees, Vale realizes that they’re both at least half hard. 

Jorge obviously knows what he’s doing here, moves his hips a bit and Vale moans into the younger man’s mouth, the friction feeling delicious. The next time they break their kiss, Jorge’s mouth moves to Vale’s ear.

”Bed? I promise nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want.”

Vale is torn between running for his escape and stripping on the spot, but he lets Jorge manoeuver him towards the bedroom and the younger resumes their kiss, already shedding his own clothes. Vale would like to help, but his fingers are trembling and fail at really being of any help. He gets to touch Jorge’s naked chest though and it feels incredibly hot, all the firm muscles he finds there. And Jorge’s skin is smooth, smoother than Vale would have thought.

He freezes and pulls back the second he feels Jorge’s fingers under his own clothes, calloused fingers rubbing over the skin above his hipbones.

”Are you okay?” Jorge pulls back and looks at him questioningly.

_I’m in Jorge Lorenzo’s motorhome, getting ready to have sex with my teammate. Of course I’m not okay. Apparently, I’ve completely lost my mind._

”We can just stop here,” Jorge says softly and for a moment, Vale wants just that. Then, he feels Jorge’s hips under his own hands, realizes the other has wriggled out of _all_ his clothes by now and while Vale’s mouth goes completely dry, his cock throbs and makes the decision for him.

”No, no.” He mumbles, pulling the hoodie over his head and dropping it carelessly, “I’m okay.”

And yeah, for now, he finally feels okay. He even has enough courage to step back a bit and look. Properly. Finds that he likes what he sees. A lot. Even more than under the show. Eventually, he traces all of Jorge’s ribs with his finger, rubs over Jorge’s nipples and revels in the surprised little gasp that follows, even caresses Jorge’s naked ass. The other just lets him, doesn’t say a word and even seems to be holding his breath. When Vale’s explorations stop, Jorge’s hands move to his fly.

”Is this okay?” Jorge almost sounds pleading and that’s something Vale would never have imagined to hear.

He nods and watches Jorge’s fingers open his jeans, shoving it down. He steps out of his shoes and fights with his socks for a moment. Then, he looks up, meets Jorge’s gaze and feels his knees give in when he finds obvious awe in the smaller man’s eyes.

”You’re beautiful, you know?”

Jorge runs his hands up and down Vale’s body, sending more shivers through the Italian’s body. _Beautiful? That’s how you see me?_

”I saw a picture of this once… I almost… I actually…” Jorge’s finger is rubbing over Vale’s tattoo and well, even if Vale still has his boxers on he’s sure Jorge can’t miss his traitorous cock’s reaction to the touch. “I jerked off to that image, you know?” The Spaniard whispers.

_Jerked off. To me. Well._

Vale remembers the images from under the shower too vividly and releases a needy moan.

”Maybe… I’ll just- “ For the first time this evening, Vale thinks Jorge is as insecure as he feels himself. He watches the other climb onto the mattress, sit with his back against the headboard. It’s undeniable that all of this has had as much of an impact on Jorge as it has on Vale. 

Trying not to think too much, he drops his boxers, not missing the flash of surprise on Jorge’s face and then joins him, sitting next to him. 

”Okay,” Vale says after a deep breath, resigning to the fact that he apparently has a very sudden crush on his younger teammate, “show me again.”

Jorge moves to straddle him, cupping his face.

”Say stop, and I stop, okay?”

Vale isn’t sure what he’s agreeing to and nods anyway, because with Jorge so close, so hot against his own body, he couldn’t resist if he wanted to.

He watches, feeling strangely detached from the reality, how Jorge reaches for his nightstand, pulling out some lube and coating his fingers. He sees Jorge’s hand, wrapping around Jorge’s cock and he can’t even stop his hips from bucking up because hell, that’s hot. And so close. Much closer than he’s been earlier. And just so incredibly hot. Most thoughts are wiped from his brain and he just stares, completely mesmerized by the way Jorge’s fingers move over his cock, stroking slowly. 

He lets his eyes travel to Jorge’s face, finding it with a look of full concentration, Jorge’s eyes cast downwards. His cheeks are flushed now and Vale reaches out, runs a hand over that stubble again. It makes the Spaniard tremble and mewl.

It’s the needy sound that does it for Vale, that makes him reach for his own cock now. The moment Jorge realizes though, he takes his hand, lacing their fingers and wow, Vale thinks, that’s not how he’d expected gay sex to happen but just… wow. It feels amazing, much better than he’d ever imagined a handjob to be, Jorge’s erection impossibly hot and smooth against his own. He never stops staring at their hands, the way their fingers are tangled. There’s all these wanton noises filling the room now and it only dawns upon him that some of them are from himself when he sees the first spurts of Jorge’s come, hitting his own stomach. Vale thinks he’s never watched another man come like this, so close by. It looks incredibly and when Jorge releases a breathy “Vale, oh my God,” Vale’s vision goes white and he lets out a strangled cry.

It’s a fair bit later, their afterglows worn off, their stomachs wiped clean, the lights off and Jorge cuddled against his side, when Vale finally realizes that not only did he just have sex with his teammate, but he’s also still in his bed afterwards, with neither of them having voiced anything about it being time to leave. And well, Vale wouldn’t stay if it was just for the sex… so would that mean…?

”Jorge?”

”Mhm.”

”Are we… doing this again?”

”I sure hope,” Jorge mumbles, his face buried in the crook of Vale’s neck. And okay, for tonight, that’s all he wants to hear. All he needs to know. Because – and that’s maybe the scariest realization of the day – Vale sure hopes that, too.

_Don't stop, no it's never enough_  
_I'll never look back, never give up_  
_And if it gets rough, it's time to get rough_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Falling_ , Haim


	3. Cause it's a beautiful night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani and Jorge and the belated aftermath of a memorable press conference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being scarce and sorry for not filling prompts/requests in chronological order! I promise I haven't forgotten anyone/anything, it's just a matter of time/ideas right now ♥  
> Thank you for all the very sweet wishes! Flight was good, time here is better (even or just because it's work ;) )
> 
> This just kind of happened while I waited for a connecting flight, hope it's turned out okay and that the person who asked about it likes it :) 
> 
> This is not remotely realistic, but it's also a trope that I've always wanted to write, so :D Also, this might have a sequel at some point (because _someone_ wanted these two to encounter other... special circumstances.

Dani wakes up because of a squeak. A very loud, shrill, disturbing squeak. One that truly hurts his head. Though, when he thinks about it, his head is hurting quite a bit anyway. Over the pounding in his head, the gasping that’s replaced the squeak and the overall feeling that his stomach is revolting against him and that maybe he’d rather die, Dani tries to figure out one important thing right now. _Why am I not alone?_

The easiest way to find out will be opening his eyes. Or maybe not, because the light hurts even more. Still, he _has_ to know, because with alarming clarity he realizes that he doesn’t remember a single thing after that ceremony thing yesterday. There were drinks and more drinks and they’d gone dancing and he remembers that he’s danced with that cute new girl from marketing. Oh, and with that one journalist. Which wouldn’t be too good. He thinks he also remembers talking to Linda, but Vale wouldn’t have let that happen. One image stands out a bit though and that one makes his eyes fly open.

”Jorge?”

Dani almost yells and he does feel instantly sober when he stares into his fellow rider’s face that mirrors his own feelings of shock and terror. 

They keep staring at each other for a while, neither moving, neither saying a thing. At first, Dani hopes it’s just a dream. Because he dreams crazy stuff after he’s had a drink too much, things like that happen. But since nothing is happening and the pain in his head feels surprisingly real, he eventually has to acknowledge that _this_ might be happening. That he might be in a bed, a bed that clearly isn’t his, with Jorge Lorenzo. And, Dani quickly scans himself under the sheets, he is not wearing any clothes. Neither is Jorge. That’s, well, not just a little awkward then. 

Either way, that image that had flashed up in Dani’s head a moment ago, that must have been real, too. An image of Jorge, propped up over him, staring at him with wide blown pupils and saliva-coated lips. Wordlessly waiting for a reply from Dani. And Dani? He’d nodded and pulled Jorge down for a kiss. _Fuck. I kissed Jorge._ And it had been a great kiss. One of the best in his life? With passion and fire and a bit too much teeth and a slight taste of copper. Now that he thinks about it, they’d both been naked then as well. He remembers marveling Jorge’s chest and abs, remembers kissing a line along the younger man’s collarbone. And… _Oh. My. God._ Dani feels his entire face burn up in flames and he stares at the sheets between his fingers, detects that vaguely familiar, dull ache in his ass. And if the alcohol hasn’t made him throw up yet, the revelation he’s having might do the trick. _I let Jorge Lorenzo fuck me. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I have to leave. Like now._

He wants to jump out of bed, but it’s not working, his body fails him miserably. With wobbly legs and breaking out in cold sweat, he ends up curled into a ball facing the wall away from Jorge. Dani releases a soft, exhausted whimper. Pain washes through his head and he focuses as hard as he can to keep the content of his stomach where it belongs. Eventually, a hand rests on his shoulder, touching him gently.

”Are you okay?” Jorge sounds tired and a bit husky but also genuinely concerned.

Dani isn’t sure. He doesn’t know how to feel about what they’ve apparently done and he’s not in any state to figure it out. What he knows is that there had been a time, a few years back, where he’d done anything to get Jorge into his bed. But Jorge had never shown the smallest bit of interest, they’d gotten into fight after fight on and off track and Dani had focused on other things. Until now, obviously, where he cannot focus on anything but Jorge.

There are scattered memories in his brain, images of Jorge looking absolutely gorgeous, looming over him, all his defined muscles twitching. Sounds of them panting and moaning, possibly swearing. The feeling of Jorge breaching him, carefully, tenderly, almost lovingly, moving ever so slowly. And the kisses, all those kisses. Dani remembers Jorge’s stubble against his sensitive skin. And sucking on Jorge’s neck. A coy look confirms that there’s indeed a giant bruise there. Dani buries his head in his arms and sighs. But if these memories are anything to go by, it’s been an amazing night.

”We, uh-“ he stutters and carefully sits up, staring at his own hands because meeting Jorge’s gaze is something he’s not ready for yet, “we… did, uh…-“

”Have sex?” Jorge helps him out and Dani wonders how the Majorcan gets the words out without tripping over them.

”We did, right?” He finally musters up the strength to look at Jorge, who seems uncomfortable and blushed but who also smiles at him, very tentatively. Dani’s heart melts a little at the sight. And he almost leans over to kiss him.

”You don’t remember anything?” There’s a strange sounds in Jorge’s voice. Dani doesn’t like it very much, that tone.

”Only moments. Not a lot. Did I do anything embarrassing?”

”Uh… okay…” Dani likes the tone in Jorge’s voice less and less by the second and now Jorge is evading his gaze. “So, promise me you won’t freak out.”

_Okay. So I’ll freak out. What have I done? Made a sex tape with you and sent it to Alberto?_

”Do you remember Catalunya 2012? The press conference?”

_What the fuck does a press conference from three years ago - … wait. What? No way!_

Dani shakes his head frantically, then gasps as another wave of pain washes over him. 

”No. No, you’re not saying…” he stares at Jorge, hoping for denial, only finding the other chewing on his bottom lip and staring down. At his hands. And Dani, very slowly, follows Jorge’s gaze towards Jorge’s hands, spotting it immediately. He gulps audibly.

It takes him a moment before he dares to look at his own hands and yup, it’s there. A small golden ring, very much like the one Jorge is wearing. 

”Well,” Dani croaks, swallowing some hysteric giggling that’s dwelling up inside him, “I guess time was running out.”

When he sees Jorge’s confused look, he shrugs, surprised over his own sudden calmness, and adds “Back then, you did say we might get married in two or three years.”

 _...We're looking for something dumb to do._  
_Hey baby,_  
_I think I wanna marry you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From _Marry You_ , Bruno Mars
> 
> The press conference in question: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUyTg2C16Kc (the first two or three minutes)


	4. Toxic - Dani/Vale/Marc [E]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a teaser to let you that I've not forgotten about this request. I promise I'll finish their night ♥ (I just always need a bit of help with *this* kind of porn.)
> 
> Follows "Obey" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/4249698/chapters/10543800) and features top!Marc. Warning for slightly blurred consent though I think by now it's kind of obvious that Vale doesn't object much...

”God, yes, you’re beautiful like this.”

Once again, Vale can’t help feeling that warmth spread through his body, that satisfaction that yes, Pedrosa sees him as beautiful. Even if he knows he’ll be disgusted about himself later that night, he can’t help loving it right now. And, be it a conscious decision or not, his legs slide a bit further apart, his chest presses a bit harder against the wooden desk, allowing the other to thrust deeper.

The arrangement he got in turn for these _services_ , it’s undeniably pleasant. Better food, a cell for himself and being out of here in half of the time. Though at times, he wonders how he can trust the other with these things. Not like he has anything official, not like he could claim a thing. But somehow, these mysterious dark eyes have him under their spell, had him there since they met for the first time and yes, though it’s a scary thought, he trusts the smaller man.

In a very hidden, dark corner of his soul, Vale even admits to enjoying the late night visits. More than a little. Often, he’s awaiting the other with a hard on already. There’s a schedule for Pedrosa’s little _interrogations_ as he calls them, every day Monday to Friday, at five sharp. And Vale is expected to be naked and kneeling in the middle of the room. The one time he wasn’t earned him a few well-placed welts, left behind by the officer’s belt. He’d cried and begged for the other to stop – and still been rock-hard afterwards.

Tonight, he’d been good and Pedrosa is in a good mood, so there’s been no punishment, not even a gag or his handcuffs. Vale likes the days when it’s like this, when the other takes the time to kiss him breathless, to open him slowly until he’s begging for it. When Pedrosa only leaves after a few moments of languid kissing and holding Vale tight. The nights when Vale pretends this means something. Anything. More than just a very immoral arrangement.

He’s close already, just from being fucked, his cock untouched and pressed uncomfortably against the surface of the desk. By the sound of the moans behind him, lower, deeper than before, he can tell that the other is about to be there, too, soon. And he’s about to groan, to beg for the other to touch him, when the door behind them opens with a bang, both their heads jerking around in panic.

”Officer Pedrosa, I believe this is not a part of our agreement.”

An ice-cold voice echoes through the room and the other pulls out of him immediately, fidgeting with his pants.

”No, Sir, pardon, Sir.”

Vale has never heard the officer’s voice like this, trembling, fearful. Reluctantly, he dares to glance over to the man who caused the rapid change in mood, surprised to find him young, almost boy’ish. Impressive though, the accurate dress blues most definitely hiding a broad, muscular body.

”Eyes down, Rossi. This is none of your business. Yet.”

He obeys, without second thought. Maybe it should scare him, but then, after the past weeks, why would this make a difference?

”Turn around and get on your knees.” That voice… such a strange mix of cold and sexy. Vale yearns to turn around, wishes he could see. Craves to see. Both of them. Because even if he’s only seen the new one for a few moments, he’s absolutely sure they’d look gorgeous together.

A rustling of clothes and a small thud make him think that actually, Pedrosa obeys this man without question, too. Which comes as a surprise. A very, very tempting surprise.

Handcuffs click – and they’re not around Vale’s wrists. His cock twitches, just from the images he’s seeing in his head, the idea of _his_ officer, on his knees, shirtless and rumpled from their interrupted little session, cuffed and helpless.

”Face down. I want your head on that ground.”

The pictures in Vale’s head get more vivid by the second.

”So… you’re the one he’s been hiding from me all the time.”

All over sudden, without a warning, as if he moved soundlessly, the other man is standing on the other side of the desk, holding Vale’s chin up and piercing him with dark brown eyes.

”I-“

The slap hits his cheek immediately, leaving a sting – and a desire for more that makes him burn with shame behind.

”You’re not the one who gets to talk here,” the man drawls, his smile vicious.

Vale gulps involuntarily, his guts twisting. The man, who looks so much like a boy, has the same magical thing around him as Pedrosa, that strange power that’s pulling Vale in, making him obey, without leaving him the smallest choice.

”Well, I must admit,” Calloused fingers run over Vale’s cheek, “you are beautiful. Very beautiful. Maybe I should try to find out what else you can do… what you have to offer that made it worth risking so much for our officer here?”

The man runs a hand down Vale’s spine and Vale is shivering, head to toe. And, to his own endless embarrassment, he’s rolling his hips slightly, desperate for friction, even if it’s between his stomach and a desk.

”Eager, huh?” Another slap, another sting. And Vale more than ever craves to be touched. “I’ll teach you some patience.”

”So,” Vale watches the new guy take a step back, sitting down on the metal chair in his cell, legs spread and eyes on Vale, expectantly, “come over here and show me what you’ve got.”

He should at least try to stop this, right? He should say something, speak up, put up a fight. Some or any resistance. Instead, Vale kneels between the other’s knees within an instant, hands opening the fly of his pants eagerly.

”Well, Dani,” the other growls as Vale’s lips close around his tip, “I’ll make you suffer for this, but I can understand… I really can. Nothing to regret for having a guy like this, nothing to regret.”

A hand runs through Vale’s curls, holds his head in place.

”We’ll have a lot of fun tonight, Rossi, I promise.”

Tears spring to Vale’s eyes when the other thrusts into his mouth sharply.

_Dani… Dani Pedrosa… so that’s your full name._

_A guy like you_  
_Should wear a warning_  
_It's dangerous_  
_I'm falling_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Toxic_ , Britney Spears (my horrible taste in music, let me show you ;) )


	5. Lover, you should have come over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows from Atonement: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4249698/chapters/9617316
> 
> Anon asked for a spanking scene... here you go :) ♥ (Sorry it took a week longer than I hoped!)

He’s expecting him. Once again. It’s happening a lot this season. And Jorge hates him a little for making him feel this way, bursting with anticipation, shivering with expectation, despite knowing that it’s not going to end the way he wants it to end. Craves it to end.

Staring out of the windows of his admittedly way too posh motorhome – that he didn’t even pick and now is ridiculed for by Vale on a daily basis – into the dark and quiet paddock, he waits. For the knocking, the inevitable knocking. He’s holding a glass of expensive whiskey, tight enough for his knuckles to go white. And he waits. His stomach is twisting and turning already, he’s half-hard from nothing, his hands are ice-cold. And he waits. Because, well, _he_ will knock. Has to knock. After this race? After what’s probably going to be the final defeat? _He_ must show up.

Jorge couldn’t tell whether he’s been waiting for minutes or hours. Only that even a second would have been too long and even a year too short. When it’s finally there, a single loud bang, he almost drops his glass. On his way to the door, he downs the rest in a single gulp, tries to mentally brace himself for what’s to come.

Marc slides inside gracefully and soundlessly. A bit like an elegant cat. Jorge closes the door behind them and, arms folded in front of his chest, watches the younger. Marc stares at the floor, seems to be panting slightly. Jorge thinks he sees stains of tears on his cheeks. Wouldn’t be surprised. He knows that Marc cries when he’s furious. And Jorge doesn’t doubt that the boy is more than infuriated by his own mistake.

On most days, Jorge would make him explain. Would make him say out loud what he wants. Tonight, he thinks Marc might not be capable of voicing it. Maybe not yet. Maybe not at all. So when the younger drops to his knees in front of him, wordlessly, he lets him. When he presses his head against Jorge’s dress pants, his growing erection, he still lets him. And Jorge knows where this is going, his thoughts confirmed when Marc’s fingers start tracing his belt, intently.

”Please, Jorge.”

That voice, it’s shattering Jorge’s heart, again. Like it always does. Marc finally looks up at him, eyes pleading, bottom lip bitten. Who could resist that image? Who could fight the temptation? Who could not feel slightly aroused by the fact that they are what this glorious man needs? 

He nods at Marc, runs his hand through the ruffled hair, gently. Marc’s eyes close and Jorge is sure they both know that it’s the last bit of tenderness for a moment.

”Bedroom,” he says, coughing briefly to get his voice into the right tone. Stern. Relentless. “Did I say you were allowed to get up?”

He follows Marc, who obediently crawls towards the bed. Jorge rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt, opens a few buttons.

”Strip,” he orders. Then watches Marc shed his clothes and shoes, before kneeling in front of the bed. Jorge gulps. He’ll never get used to this, to seeing Marc at his most vulnerable and most beautiful. Will never understand how the younger can look so strong in his weakest moments.

”Take it off,” Jorge says, gesturing at his lap. Marc doesn’t even hesitate, but Jorge doesn’t miss how his fingers shake when he opens the buckle of Jorge’s belt. The touch, Marc’s touch, _there_ , makes Jorge a bit dizzy. And his own hands tremble when he takes the leather from Marc, putting it on the mattress for later.

”Over my knees.” Jorge sits on the edge of the mattress, regrets still having his pants on somehow as they hurt his throbbing cock. But it’s more degrading this way, at least he assumes it is. Maybe also a bit more painful with the way Marc’s sensitive skin will be rubbing against the rough fabric?

The younger bends over him as expected and well, it’s not the first time they’re doing this, so Marc knows what’s expected, knows what’s going to come. He barely reacts to Jorge’s first slaps. Jorge thinks he could get off just from the obscene noise of skin hitting skin, or the way his hands are leaving prints on Marc’s perfect ass, the skin reddening gradually. With the way Marc is heating up under him, he’s also beginning to flinch a little, especially when Jorge puts a bit more strength into his actions. Every once in a while, he now hears him suck in a sharp breath.

By the time he stops, Marc’s ass is bright red and radiating heat. Jorge has to take a few deep breaths to calm his most urgent need, to center himself again. Picking up the belt from its spot on the immaculate white sheets feels strangely powerful, solemn. _You need me. Whatever else you do. Whoever you do. You’ll always have to come back to me for this._

The sound of the leather hitting Marc’s skin is painful to Jorge’s ears. He doesn’t like hurting Marc and knows that he’s doing it – even if it’s at Marc’s request. Marc whines, quietly, but still audibly. Jorge still keeps going, marveling the welts he’s creating, flinching at the way Marc’s whines turn into whimpers. Until now, the younger has been amazingly still, but after a few well-placed hits, he begins to squirm on Jorge’s legs. The Majorcan can feel that Marc is hard. It’s not a surprise, even if he can’t understand, doesn’t see the appeal of pain.

Once the squirming stops and the whimpers seize in favor of barely audible sobs, once Marc is obviously breaking down, that’s when Jorge stops. Pulls him up until he’s sitting in his lap. Kisses him, devours him, hands tangled in the black hair that’s now damp with sweat.

He clumsily sheds his shirt with Marc still sitting on his legs, their mouths barely breaking apart. Then, he pushes Marc onto the mattress, takes off the rest of his clothes, joins the younger. He kisses him, again, tenderly. Looms over him, aligning their cocks so he can grip both of them at the same time. It doesn’t take long before they’re both coming, before they’re both flat on the mattress, spent and wrecked.

As always, it’s Jorge who gets up once more, who cleans them with tissues, who makes sure Marc drinks a bit of water before passing out completely. Before he settles for the night, he trails his hand over Marc’s ass once more, the younger flinching next to him.

”Too rough?” Jorge is concerned, because he has been hard on Marc tonight. Maybe harder than he has ever been.

”Just perfect,” Marc whispers and then he’s looking at him, dark brown eyes unguarded, vulnerable but also strangely serene. “Thank you, Jorge.”

Jorge shivers, from the words and from the tone, the shy smile on Marc’s face and even more from Marc’s touch, because the younger is reaching over with his finger, running over Jorge’s face.

”Just spend the night,” Jorge says softly, before pulling Marc closer, arm around the younger’s waist possessively. He doesn’t even care that he’s sounding needy. That he’s giving away more than he ever wanted. He just wants to keep Marc here. With him. Where he belongs. And maybe, Jorge won't give up his hope, tonight _he_ will stay. Maybe.

_So I'll wait for you...and I'll burn_  
_Will I ever see your sweet return_  
_Oh will I ever learn_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Lover, you should have come over_ , Jeff Buckley


	6. Rewind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as for Come Home: Last update until next week ♥ I'll miss you guys!
> 
> This follows "It's a beautiful night..." (chapter three here) which I recommend you read, too :) It's been a request that their little encounter would have another unforeseen consequence *cough*

They don’t really talk about it. It’s clumsy and awkward and beyond disastrous, the whole affair. Jorge convinces Ruben to do the paperwork necessary to erase and annul everything and that’s pretty much all there is to it. Sometimes, Dani wishes it wasn’t like this. Wishes they could just stay together. Stay married even. But it’s not on offer. Jorge is not on offer. Not for him at least. And the speed at which the Majorcan had agreed that they needed to fix things only confirmed that. Dani was a drunken adventure for him and that’s okay, Dani keeps telling himself. Because even if he wants anything more, there’s no way they can have it.

And then, when he thinks the wedding has been the biggest mistake of his life, the following weeks reveal that it can in fact get even worse…

***

Jorge isn’t looking forward to seeing Dani. Not one bit. There used to be a time where he would have, but that’s gone now. After their mortifying last encounter he can’t imagine ever looking the smaller in the eyes again. How stupid has Jorge been, that night, when he should have known Dani was simply drunk all along? Of course, sober Dani would never have done any of those things. Still, it stings, having been so close to what he wanted and now having to give it all back up again. Hopefully, Ruben will manage without drawing any attention at least. No need to risk their careers on top of it all. Well, Jorge thinks, at least it will be over really soon. Because Dani is going to give him the papers tomorrow and then it can be fixed. Only… a small part inside of him breaks again and again at the thought, because really, he wishes there wasn’t anything to be fixed about their marriage.

***

”Maybe we, uh, should talk?” Dani puts the papers aside and faces Jorge, who glares daggers at him.

”Well, you made perfectly clear that you don’t want to consider or continue this or us and that’s okay with me, so I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”

The coldness in Jorge’s voice hurts. A lot. And now the Majorcan is turning away, ready to open his door for Dani to leave.

”Jorge, wait,” Dani tries, voice trembling. Because he _has_ to try. They _have_ to talk. Sure, there would be _other options_ , but Dani just can’t, not without asking Jorge first. And the crumpled little piece of paper he’s hiding in his back pocket burns, weighs heavy on his mind. Too heavy.

No. Don’t. No _wait, Jorge_. You don’t want me, you said it was a mistake. I understand. Hell, I agree. So just leave me those papers and get out, Dani.”

”I- I can’t.” All over sudden, Dani is on the verge of tears and great, that’s just what he needs now, an emotional outbreak.

”Why?” Jorge asks, still glaring, arms folded in front of his chest.

Dani can’t, his brain won’t come up with the words. So he takes it out, the little paper and drops it on the table.

***

Jorge looks at the crumpled printout questioningly, but as Dani shows no signs of explanation, he picks it up and eyes it. Stares at it. Then realization hits him hard and _oh…_ That sure makes a lot of sense then.

”Sorry, I didn’t know you were, uh, in a relationship,” he stammers, “Certainly not such a serious one. Congratulations! Have I met her?”

He forces a smile on his face, even though he’s almost exploding with jealousy. It’s heartbreaking. Unfair. Ironic. That this happens with Dani now of all times, that Jorge and the impromptu drunk ceremony are obviously coming too late. But Jorge wouldn’t be Jorge if he didn’t want Dani, _his_ Dani, to be happy first and foremost and if Dani found a girl, _the_ girl, then that is great for him and Jorge won’t stand in his way and - 

”Dani, are you okay?” Somehow, Dani doesn’t look like a happy expecting father at all. He’s just staring at Jorge, all color drained from his face. 

Jorge goes back to looking at the printout, feeling like he must have missed an important detail. He reads the text on top of the ultrasound picture, can’t find anything special about the date. Reads the rest. _Mother: Dani Pedrosa._

Jorge’s eyes fly up, stare straight at the older man.

”Dani,” he gulps and lets himself fall into the nearest chair, “you’ve got to be kidding me, right?”

Dani’s face doesn’t look like he’s joking though. Not one bit.

 _’Cause everything is different now_  
_I’d really like to tell you how_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Rewind_ , Diane Birch


	7. Three crashes and a wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the night after Aragon
> 
> Sorry, wifi is crap and I'm about to celebrate... have this as an apology for me being gone so long and replies and a resolve (sort of) of the evil cliffhanger tomorrow ♥
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful wishes, I'm seriously having the time of my life ♥

„You scared me today.“

Alex’s head jerks up from his phone, gaze meeting a familiar pair of eyes that’s currently scrutinizing him.

”I-… you saw it?”

Somehow, he hadn’t been aware that Miguel would have watched. He would have thought he’d been celebrating.

”Sorry?” Alex offers, feeling somehow embarrassed about not finishing and self-conscious with Miguel having had such a good day. And then, Alex just isn’t sure where they’re standing with their relationship, isn’t sure there is a relationship. Feels surprised by the fact that Miguel is here, now, obviously concerned.

”Why would you be sorry?” Miguel kneels down before him, hands on his shoulders, touch making Alex crave for more instantly. “Are you okay?”

Miguel’s eyes… they’re full of concern and Alex just realizes. And he wonders if he should have seen it earlier. The genuine affection. _This means something to you. _I_ mean something to you._

It’s weird, surprising, because Alex has never expected his feelings to be returned. In fact, he never expects anyone to feel anything, because it’s Marc they love. That’s how it seemed to him, all the time. But this? It’s new… someone who so openly worries about him and the revelation makes Alex gulp, makes his stomach flip.

”I- no, don’t worry. I’m okay. Bit bruised. Only thing that’s really hurt is my ego.”

”Anyway I can kiss it better?” Miguel stares up at him, a hand running over his face now. Alex wants to stay here, like this forever, because it feels so good. Incredibly good. He revels in the touch and nods and yes, Miguel is leaning in, lips on his and Alex’s skin tingles from head to toe. The kiss is slow, gently, careful... not at all aiming for something more, not sexual... it feels like Miguel is just making sure that yes, they're both here and Alex doesn't want this moment to stop ever.

_I love you._

***

”You scared me today.”

Johan wraps his arms closer around the smaller, nuzzles his head into the crook of Enea’s neck. He needs this, desperately, has been craving for it since the second he saw the pictures on the TV in the pits, saw his boyfriend hit the gravel. It’s been a nasty crash and he’d been more than relieved when Enea was up immediately.

He never even realized how much he cares until that moment. For Johan, this isn’t the first relationship he’s in. Not even the first with another man. But definitely the first with another rider and wow, he never had a clue how hard it is to watch. To be unable to intervene. Or check on someone, because, yeah, people would get suspicious if he’d walk up to Enea’s pit and ask about his health. Having a loved one doing this, racing, it’s hell, Johan thinks.

All he’s wanted since the pictures came on is this, be here, hold Enea close, convince himself that the younger is okay.

”I’m okay, I promise,” Enea whispers, his hands rubbing Johan’s back.

It’s roles reversed and Johan chuckles, because it’s so surreal that Enea almost got hurt and yet Enea is the one who offers him consolation, because it’s Johan who is on the verge of tears. But he's here, his Enea, his boyfriend, is in Johan's arms, safe and sound and that's all the celebration Johan want's today, sixth or seventh or thirteenth place, it wouldn't have mattered anyway. And he'd give a win in favor of this anytime.

"I think there's champagne in the minibar... we should empty it, I think?"

***

”You scared me today,” Jorge whispers, cuddling up against Marc’s back, his finger tracing patterns on Marc’s upper arm. It’s true, he’d been terrified when they held up the “Marquez out”-board. He’d asked about Marc first thing after he arrived in parc fermé and it got him a view confused looks from his team, but there are no words to describe the relief that’s washed over him once he heard Marc was okay. Physically. Because emotionally that’s a whole different story and Marc now has the matching bruises on his ass as lasting proof of how not-okay he is emotionally.

”I- I didn’t mean to,” Marc’s voice is barely above whispering.

”I know,” Jorge litters the younger man’s neck with kisses, regrets his own words. “It’s just… I think I really care, you know?” He adds the words and hopes Marc understands. Because he can’t take this much longer, having him and not having him at the same time. Craving more of Marc when it seems he can’t get it.

”Why would you care about me?”

That’s it, he thinks, Jorge has had enough of this. Of pretending he’s just casually helping out an opponent, because seriously, who’d do that? He presses Marc back first into the mattress and props himself up over the younger, looking into a face full of confusion. The Majorcan’s heart aches because of the distress that’s still on Marc’s face, because of the traces of the tears he’d cried earlier, because of how young and innocent he always looks on nights like these.

”Because I love you. As simple as that. And tonight, I want you to stay here, finally, and not sneak out on me like you did all these nights before, not walk away from me. I want to wake up next to you and have breakfast with you and yeah, that’s a thousand kinds of wrong and crazy but I can’t help it and I really think-“

He never gets any further, which is a shame because he has just the right quotation on his mind to cite, but then it doesn’t matter much since Marc is pulling him down and silencing him with a kiss. Devouring him properly and leaving him hard and breathless when they finally break apart for air.

”I love you, too.”

***

”It won’t change anything between us, right?”

”Hmm? What wouldn’t, caro?”

He slowly blinks his eyes open, meeting Dani’s inquiring gaze.

”Me beating you. Or ruining your title.”

Vale struggles a bit to process Dani’s words. After all, he’s just had mind-blowing sex with the most beautiful fiancé he could wish for, so excuse him for being a bit slow on the intake here.

”What are you talking about?”

He props his head up on one hand, the other reaching out to toy with Dani’s hair, which never looks as beautiful as it does now, in bed, all messy and fluffy.

”I- I might have cost you the points that decide about your title today. I mean… I could have let you pass, right?”

”You’re kidding, right? You don’t seriously think I’d expect that from you?”

Dani looks at him, looks uncertain and Vale wants to be angry at how the other apparently thinks about him, but he could never in a lifetime be angry with Dani, especially not when the Repsol rider looks like a lost puppy.

”Oh Dani,” he mumbles instead, pulling the other into an embrace, “I only want to win if I can beat you and Jorge and Marc on track, fair, by riding better. I don’t want anyone to let me go. Especially not you.”

He snuggles even closer to Dani, his finger trailing a line down Dani’s spine. He can feel the smaller relax against him.

”Actually,” he adds after a while, “I quite enjoyed fighting you today. On and _off_ track.”

Dani chuckles against his chest, sound vibrating through Vale’s body. It’s not easy, he thinks, being in love with an opponent, but with Dani as his supposed enemy, Vale never stood a chance.

”So we’re not calling off the wedding, right?” There’s a last spark of insecurity in Dani’s voice and Vale wishes he could give the smaller the confidence that he deserves.

”Nope, not at all. I’d never pass up on a chance to make you mine.” Vale says with a smile, feeling the last bit of tension leave Dani’s body. “Actually, I think we might have to expand the guest list… I think I saw Marc sneak into Jorge’s motorhome again… so we might want to ask them to come along, right?”


	8. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm still working on retrieving the data from my old computer, so no Come Home yet :(

He’s kneeling on the floor, facing the corner of the room. Naked. Obviously. And he wants this, in a way, somehow, though he couldn’t explain why. Of course, he feels exposed and that is part of the experience for him, there’s a certain rush of adrenaline that he only feels whenever Jorge degrades him. It doesn’t stop his cheeks from blushing and it doesn’t stop him from resisting at times, trying to avoid these things, but usually, when he plays along, he feels that familiar heat, pooling in his lap. Which is why his cock isn’t exactly soft now. 

Marc takes a deep breath, focuses on exhaling slowly. A shiver runs over his body, his skin probably covered in gooseflesh from head to toe. Behind him, he hears Jorge shuffle and move. It used to make him nervous because it reminded him that Jorge was there. Now, it’s comforting, reassuring. Because he knows that Jorge is still there and Jorge’s presence is no longer intimidating. He wonders when things changed, when his own opinion changed.

Maybe it’s been that night where Jorge asked him to stay for the first time. He hadn’t. But the temptation had been huge. Incredible even. That had surprised him at the time and partly still surprises him now. This whole thing just kind of grew on him, moved in a completely unpredicted direction. Turned into something he’d never have believed possible. After all, he’d never – and that’s something he hasn’t even told Jorge, never had anything with a man before this. Nor had he experimented with submission in his previous, very much vanilla-style, relationships. So maybe, that night had been the turning point, the decisive moment where he realized that he had fallen. 

It had been terrifying, suddenly realizing that he might have feelings for another man. Strangely, the sexual part of their relationship never freaked him out quite that much. From that first more or less improvised blowjob to letting Jorge spank him until he was bruised, everything kind of developed naturally. Marc felt curious, interested, yes, but never thought of it as anything more than a casual experiment that left both of them sated and re-balanced. Until the moment where Jorge asked him to stay and where it dawned on him that he wanted to stay more than anything. Cuddling and kissing and making out lazily, that wasn’t part of their agreement. Sleeping in each other’s arms and waking up with each other even less. 

Marc still feels overwhelmed by that part of their relationship. The first time, he had fled the room as soon as Jorge was asleep. He’d run back to his own motorhome, breathless and panicked, nauseous even. But last night… last night Jorge told him he loved him. And Marc had replied without even thinking about it, without ever thinking about it. The sentence, the ‘I love you, too’, it left his mouth almost like a reflex. He’d spent half of the night worrying, turning in Jorge’s hold restlessly, asking himself if it was true and how it ended up that way, before he fell asleep. Exhausted. In Jorge’s arms. And when he woke up in the morning, Jorge’s sweet smile right in front of his face, Jorge’s fingers playing with his hair – that’s when Marc knew that it’s true. He loves another man.

Completely forgetting the situation he’s in, the punishment he’s under, Marc smiles to himself, shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He is in love with Jorge Lorenzo. It’s by far the strangest path his life has taken so far. Just when he thought he was settling… this would happen. He wonders how it is for Jorge. If there’s been someone before him? He assumes there has and without any rational reason, the thought alone makes him steam with jealousy. The idea of Jorge with someone, anyone else, it’s deeply disturbing, makes him shudder and frown at the walls. The same white walls he’s been staring at for an undefinable amount of time now. Much like their relationship, time seems fluid to him right now. He’d be unable to tell how long he’d been there. His knees are hurting though and he’s starting to shiver from the cold. He thinks his thighs are about to start trembling and his arms feel strained from their position, Marc’s wrist in handcuffs on his back. He’s trying to fidget around slightly, tries to relieve some of the pressure on his knees, when a familiar voice cuts through the air.

”Turn around.”

He does as he’s told, finds himself facing Jorge’s lap and almost licks his lips.

”You’ve done well,” he hears the Majorcan whisper, pride washing over Marc immediately.

Jorge hauls him to his feet, wraps his arms around him. Marc feels himself sag, feels his knees give in. The older just tightens his hold and then loosens the handcuffs.

”You’re not on punishment for now, okay? You can touch me.” Jorge whispers into his hair after a moment and Marc feels like he’s only now fully waking up from his daydream. He nods and without hesitation, slides his arms around the Yamaha rider, his fingers running under the fabric of Jorge’s T-Shirt, Jorge’s skin hot under his touch. He’s here and Jorge is holding him and yes, for now, the world seems perfect. It’s amazing, how even with nothing else going right this season, Jorge always miraculously righted everything for him.

”I love you,” Marc mumbles into the cotton of Jorge’s shirt – and this time, he’s sure he means it.

 _Was a time when I wasn’t sure_  
_But you set my mind at ease_  
_There is no doubt_  
_You’re in my heart now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Patience_ , Guns'N'Roses


	9. Fade Into You - Johann/Enea [Post Motegi I/IV]

„Not tonight,“ he mumbles, face buried in his boyfriend’s neck, lips against the skin that’s still sticky with champagne and that, if it was up to Enea, would be soaked in champagne every race weekend. Boyfriend… Enea smiles to himself. Who would have thought?  
“Not tonight? You’re still sore?” Johann’s voice sounds concerned. Enea just hugs him close and keeps smiling against the older man’s skin. It feels good to know that Johann cares. That he always notices. Like he’s softly stroking over the bruises on Enea’s back right now.

”That’s not what I meant,” Enea whispers, finally disentangling from Johann’s embrace. He lets himself flop to his back and then, using the momentum of a surprised Johann, pulls him along so that he’s propped up over him, a surprised face staring down at Enea’s. “I thought, you know… it’s about time, right?”

He wraps his heels around Johann’s waist, pulls him down and hopes he gets the message across. Which he apparently did, judging by the way Johann’s pupils blow wide.

”Sure?” Johann’s voice sounds croaky, as if it took him a lot of effort to say anything.

Enea nods. Because yes, he is sure. Really sure. Not like that night in the hotel, where he had been drunk and begged Johann to fuck him. A memory that still makes him blush. Back then, he didn’t have a clue what he was getting himself into and he’s grateful that Johann did not take advantage. That Johann gave him time, took things slow. That Johann was considerate enough to let Enea fuck him first. Something they’d tried after Aragon for the first time and Enea thinks it’s been the best thing ever, even if he didn’t last long. But tonight, yeah, tonight he’s sure that he’s ready to try _this_. He’s learned other things, how Johann likes to be touched. Where. Even how to suck him. And with this day, with Johann’s championship, Enea feels ready for more tonight and thinks the night deserves an ending like this.

”Yeah, I’m sure,” he says, hands pulling Johann down for a kiss.

He swallows Johann’s growl and lets his nails scrape over Johann’s spine, waiting for the other to take initiative now, to lead the way. Because Enea doesn’t really know how to start. When oxygen becomes scarce, the older pulls away, their gazes locked intensely for a moment. Enea nods, reassures, shivers from the way Johann’s eyes are devouring him now.

”It’s easier when you’re on your stomach,” Johann says, voice trembling a little and arm reaching for the nightstand anyway.

Enea doesn’t even consider the option, already knows that it’s not what he wants. He shakes his head determinedly.

”I want to see your face.”

Johann crashes his lips down, almost violently, growling and Enea moans now, too. Johann still tastes like champagne. Victory. It’s absolutely amazing, what he’s achieved and Enea couldn’t be more proud. He thinks he’s never been so happy for another rider. But this isn’t about _another rider_ anymore, this is about Johann. And Johann has become more than anyone else in Enea’s life, he’s turned into everything the younger never even knew he’d been looking for.

”Relax, okay?” Johann is whispering into his ear and Enea tries, really, he does, but it’s difficult not to tense when there’s a slick finger ghosting over his hole.

Johann distracts him with another kiss, but the second he pushes in, just the tiniest bit, Enea clenches his muscles from head to toe. Johann sits back on his heels, gentle smile on his face. It feels exposed, strange, lying spread out on the bed and having him look at _everything_ like that, but his eyes look so greedy, so desperate, that Enea is sure he likes what he sees. And then Enea stops thinking altogether, because Johann’s lips wrap around his cock. 

It’s a sneaky trick, Enea concedes breathlessly. His knuckles have turned white from gripping the sheets and he’s panting helplessly while Johann’s mouth moves up and down. And Johann has buried three fingers inside of him with only a slight burn left, so it’s definitely working this way. Every once in a while, Johann’s fingers rub over a spot that makes Enea see stars and whine and it’s then that he understands why Johann doesn’t seem to mind bottoming at all. _Best feeling ever._

By the time Johann withdraws his mouth and fingers, Enea has long lost any ability to think clearly. He’s reduced to a needy puddle, his breathing ragged and his voice that begs Johann to continue wrecked.

”You are sure about this, right?” Only the slight breathlessness gives away that Johann isn’t only concerned, gives away how much he wants Enea to be sure. The younger is impressed, feels a warm wave of affection wash over his body. There’s Johann, propped up over him on shaky arms, face questioning and so sexy, with the flushed cheeks and the glistening lips and Johann still, even in this moment, takes the time to make sure Enea is okay. And Enea is sure the other would stop, even know, if Enea asked for it.

”Mhm, please, Johann,” he whines, hips bucking up to underline his desire.

Johann fulfills his wish, lining his cock up and breaching his way into Enea’s body. The pain is certainly something now, makes Enea gasp and wince, but Johann is so very patient, so incredibly slow in every single one of his movements that Enea can adjust.

They’re both gasping for air by the time Johann is buried completely and Enea does feel more or less impaled, but he’s also greedy for more and rock hard with arousal, because seeing Johann like this is new. The older has never looked so desperate, so wrecked. So absolutely needy.

”Move,” Enea pants, heels digging into the small of the other’s back to urge him forward. Moving helps against the pain and once Enea finds out how to cant his hips right, the thrusts meet _that_ spot inside him, over and over, until he’s reduced to a begging mess again. He’s only distantly aware of Johann’s fingers wrapping around him, most of his world consisting of stars right now. His orgasm hits him so hard that he doesn’t even remember it.

Coming back down is a slow process, reality taking its time before it reappears. Enea finds himself still on his back, Johann’s head on his chest. When he remembers how to move, he strokes over the older man’s cheek, begins to play with his hair absentmindedly.

”Wow,” he whispers eventually.

Johann looks up at him with the most gorgeous smile ever.

”Yeah, wow,” the older still smiles and no, Enea still can’t believe this is happening, still doesn’t understand how it began, but they’re here now and he wouldn’t change that for anything.


	10. Crash Into Me

It becomes a habit afterwards. At one point during the race weekend, Jorge will _steal_ a piece of Vale’s clothing, a hoodie, a shirt, a cap. And at night, Vale will receive a text asking him if he wants to pick it up. Which, of course, he does. They don’t do much more than during that first night, don’t get beyond exchanging sloppy kisses and handjobs. Though there’s a bit of a domestic routine sneaking in, nights of watching movies and sharing takeaway on the couch. 

The whole thing should freak him out, not just for one reason. After all, he’s not only turning gay in his mid-thirties, no, of all the handsome men around him, it’s Jorge Lorenzo who catches his eye. And he can hardly blame their affair on curiosity or drunkenness, both of which have served as excellent explanations for previous missteps. This time though, he’s always been sober. And curiosity? Nope, never felt that. Plus, being with Jorge doesn’t feel like an experiment. Hell, it doesn’t even feel casual – and that last thought, that’s the one that should _really_ worry him. But it doesn’t – and that shocks Vale, when he’s curled up in his hotel bed, once again spending a night contemplating Jorge Lorenzo.

It’s not casual. It’s never been casual.

Vale gulps and stares at the ceiling, a deep sigh falling from his lips. _How the hell did this even happen to me?_

But at the end of the day, he _is_ Valentino Rossi and it takes more than a gay freakout and some unexpected feelings for his teammate to beat him. He’s determined to figure this out, to learn what he wants and how he can get and if it turns out that yes, his thirty-six years old self wants to be dating _Jorge Lorenzo_ , then Vale will make it work. As simple as that. And before he falls asleep, he briefly wonders when Jorge will _borrow_ his clothes this weekend, a wave of arousal washing over him at the thought.

*

”Nice save,” Jorge says, smiling broadly. There’s still something surprising about this, his teammate smiling at him. Not smirking. Not being snarky. No sarcasm in sight. Simply, genuinely smiling. And, maybe he’s really been brainwashed or something, but Vale thinks it’s a beautiful image, Jorge Lorenzo smiling genuinely. Not even hot or attractive, no, beautiful. His mouth goes a bit dry over the realization and he coughs.

”Uh… yeah, I guess,” he stammers. “I mean… it’s stupid, right? The questions about our relationship?”

”Of course,” Jorge shrugs, “But the media are just doing their job, I guess. Anyway, I’m glad you came up with that secret diary thing, that was gold. And their faces.”

Jorge honest-to-God snickers and Vale feels his heart melt into a puddle of awe.

”Well,” he says, taking a deep breath and gathering his courage, “I noticed I’m not missing any clothes – so maybe they’re right and our _relationship_ isn’t what it used to be?”

Vale goes for a wink, tries to keep the mood light though his intention is all but. And is Jorge blushing? The Spaniard is definitely fidgeting, that much is sure.

”Uh… maybe… just come over? Without an excuse? Just for a drink from the minibar?”

Vale’s mind is a bit slow on the uptake, but when he understands, he can’t help beaming.

”Sure. I will be there. You’ve got the room across from mine, right?”

*

He checks the hallway several times, desperately trying not to be seen while visiting Jorge. At ten. In tight jeans and an even tighter white T-Shirt. And no, he didn’t spent an extra ten minutes on his hair. And it’s just a coincidence that he took the time to shave. At night. When he’s finally sure that the air is clear, he hurriedly knocks, heart beating furiously already.

”Hey, right on time,” Jorge lets him in with a smile that Vale would describe as shy – only, Jorge isn’t shy, is he?

His teammate is wearing a dark shirt, a very flattering dark shirt that almost makes him lick his lips and if he didn’t know better, he’d think Jorge dressed up on purpose. And don’t the Spaniard’s cheeks look just like he shaved recently as well?

”Whiskey?” Jorge holds out one of the small bottles and Vale shrugs, takes it and lets himself flop down on Jorge’s mattress.

”Sure.” He downs the bottle without second-guessing and sees Jorge do the same with a bottle of vodka. No, Vale thinks, he doesn’t want this to get out of hand, doesn’t want him or Jorge drunk when they do this. Talk about this.

”So… uh… this,” Vale gestures between them, “us. It’s a thing, right?”

”I- uh. Yes?” It sounds like a question and Jorge is staring at his feet now, leaving Vale unable to read anything in his face.

”I mean… I-“ He swallows and takes a deep breath, “I think it is.”

Jorge lifts his head, slowly. He looks absolutely incredulous.

”Seriously?”

Vale just nods and then gets to watch how a broad grin spreads over his teammates face. And it looks so beautiful, again, that this time, Vale can’t keep himself from closing the distance between them, cupping Jorge’s face and pressing his lips on the Spaniard’s. Jorge tastes a bit like Vodka and a lot just like Jorge and it tastes familiar and sweet, just like everything Vale ever wanted. His hands are under the shirt already, caressing Jorge’s skin, every inch he can reach.

They undress each other slowly and sensually, taking their time. Vale shudders when Jorge nibbles his way down his chest. He retaliates by kissing a line along the smaller man’s collarbone, sucking a small bruise on his shoulder and making him moan. It’s a bit like a dance and a tiny bit a battle for dominance, both of them trying to make the other squirm and moan and lose it here and now. Their kisses grow in intensity and passion and their breathing is far from regular by the time they’re both naked. 

They don’t need a single word to move to the bed together, Vale’s hands never leaving Jorge’s hips. And he splays him out, like an offering, giving himself a moment to take in that spectacular sight of Jorge’s firm body, tan skin contrasting beautifully with the white sheets, chest heaving. Jorge props himself up on his elbows and looks at him and wow, Vale has never seen his eyes so wide, so black.

”Come up here,” Jorge whispers and Vale does, drawn by the hoarse voice and absolutely unable to think right now. All he does is react to instinct, to his bodies cravings, crawling over Jorge like an animal stalking prey.

”I want you,” Jorge growls into his ear and it’s almost over before it started, because that’s damned close to making Vale come.

”I-“ he blushes, stutters, “I haven’t done this before,” he whispers, a bit ashamed of his inexperience.

Jorge just growls again, lips against Vale’s neck. The Spaniard doesn’t hesitate, grabs things from the nightstand and Vale feels cool liquid on their fingers already, before his mind even processed what’s going on. Jorge takes their coated fingers, moves them between his legs and _oh_. Vale has heard about this, but it’s beyond his imagination, the feeling of his finger pushing into Jorge’s body. It’s so incredibly tight.

”Really?” He asks hesitantly, eyes on Jorge’s. Because he can’t imagine this can feel good for anyone. Jorge nods though, his hand guiding Vale’s and his hips meeting the movement of the Italian’s fingers.

It takes a lot of self-restraint for Vale not to come too early here, the slow process of preparing Jorge already so hot and perfect, the image of Jorge’s head falling back, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips parted so seductive. Vale experimentally moves a bit faster, crooks his fingers. He’s surprised when Jorge moans, back arching off the mattress, hips moving towards Vale frantically.

”God, more.”

He sounds wrecked and it’s all the encouragement Vale needs to keep playing, the sounds from Jorge’s mouth becoming more and more obscene. 

”More, please.” And if Vale hadn’t expected one thing in his life, it would be Jorge begging him for something.

Jorge presses a condom into his hand and Vale thinks it’s the last moment to hold back, the last way out and he eyes Jorge, carefully. Inquiring. All he gets is an impatient growl and well, if Jorge wants this, Vale won’t deny him. He’s never been this clumsy rolling down a condom in his life, fingers shaking and breathing ragged. Under him, Jorge is panting and covered in sweat, pupils blown impossibly wide. He looks gorgeous, muscles of his torso moving with his heavy breathing.

Vale lines himself up and leans down for a kiss. He’s never done this before, but Jorge guides him, legs around Vale’s waist and heels pulling the Italian in, bit by bit. The feeling of breaching Jorge, entering that tight heat, is indescribable. Vale won’t ever find the words, his vision already whiting out. His last thought before he’s buried to the hilt is that this won’t last long at all.

And it probably doesn’t, though Vale couldn’t really tell as he’s lost on waves of passion and want. He vaguely registers the curses and moans filling the room, but he couldn’t tell if it’s him or Jorge making them and he’s beyond caring about their room neighbors. Jorge’s nails are digging into his back and every once in a while, Vale has a second where his own head is clear enough to take in the beauty that’s beneath him, Jorge’s face open and unravelling. All guards down, for him. It’s mind-blowing.

Vale, at one point, realizes he should probably be doing something for Jorge, too, his fingers clumsily wrapping around the other. Jorge spills over his hand almost immediately, a short scream thundering through the room. It takes Vale by surprise, the way the Spaniard clenches down on him now, becoming unbearably tight. Unable to hold back, he comes with a groan, collapsing right on top of Jorge, their lips searching each other a little awkwardly.

They alternate between exchanging lazy kisses and regaining their breath and Jorge’s fingers are drawing patterns on Vale’s come-covered stomach. His muscles ripple under the feathery touch.

Incredible. The best sex of his life and it’s with a man. His teammate. Vale smiles to himself.

”Definitely a thing,” he says, pulling the sheet over them.

”Absolutely,” Jorge mumbles, his voice sounding half-asleep already. Jorge nuzzles closer, his head coming to rest on Vale’s chest.

Maybe they should clean up, because they’ll be disgusting in the morning. But Vale wouldn’t tell Jorge to move now at any cost. Because as great as the sex had been, this is even better.

*

They only see the messages in the morning, neither of them having checked their phone before going to sleep. When they do, all they can do to react is stare at each other in utter mortification.

_Guys, you seriously need to tone it down a bit. Otherwise your diary won’t be a secret much longer. But congrats to finally getting a hold of each other. Marc and Dani._

”Well,” Vale is the first of them to find his words again, “maybe we should ask them for advice, you know? They should tell us how to keep things quiet.”

 _Sweet like candy to my soul_  
_sweet you rock_  
_and sweet you roll_  
_Lost for you I'm so lost for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Crash into me_ , Dave Matthews Band
> 
> They asked for this one. Really. They did. http://stripedsquirrel.tumblr.com/post/131212166142/repsol-ariel-question-to-jorge-and-valentino


	11. That feeling is the best thing...

“Not tonight,” Jorge hauls him back up when he wants to drop to his knees. “Not tonight, okay?”

”Are you… okay?” Marc looks at him through insecure eyes.

”Yeah, I’m fine. But I don’t want to… uh-“ _How can he make Marc beg and scream and cause him so much pain – and still be blushing like a schoolboy when he tries to say something like this?_ “I just don’t want to play tonight, you know?”

”Did I do something wrong?”

The pout. The bitten lip. Jorge swears to God, one day, when Marc looks at him with all his issues and self-doubts so plain visible, he’ll punch the boy in the face.

”No, of course not.” He wraps the younger in an embrace, hands rubbing over a tense back. “I just… I mean... after Aragon, this isn’t just sex, right?”

_There you go, Lorenzo. One way to spoil the mood. Now he’ll tell you that he’s only doing casual, that he doesn’t do guys. That he doesn’t want romance. That everything after Aragon was just a mistake._ Jorge’s heart is thundering in his chest and he finds it difficult to breath.

”No, it’s not,” Marc mumbles into his shirt and maybe there’s some rocks falling from Jorge’s chest now. “Not for me,” Marc adds.

”Well, not for me either. So we could just hang out and have a drink and cuddle up in my bed? Not like a fourth place with a broken hand needs punishment in the first place, right?”

Marc looks at him again now, cheeks blushed. _God, who raised you to believe that you should get a podium with broken bones?_ Jorge decides to save the anger about whatever has gone wrong in Marc’s upbringing for another night though, because right now, with a cuddly night on a bed, something he’s been dreaming of for years, he only wants Marc.

”Come on, let’s drown our sorrows in some Vodka and laugh about bad commentators.” He pulls the younger along and that’s what they do. Sit on the bed in their T-Shirts and boxers, watching youtube compilations on Jorge’s tablet, emptying most of his minibar. It might sound boring, but for Jorge, it’s bliss and utter perfection. Marc is leaning against him, head molded onto his shoulder perfectly, his trademark laughter filling the room. He’s so much more beautiful when he’s happy, when he gets to be a kid, Jorge thinks, hand running through Marc’s messy black hair absentmindedly. Evenings like this is what he’s been dreaming of, yearning for. Easy domesticity. Not in the way _normal people_ would have it, but at the most normal it can get for a MotoGP rider stranded overseas.

He keeps running his fingers over Marc’s scalp, lost in thoughts of other things he’d like to do. Breakfast together, possibly at his house. Just going for a walk. How beautiful would it be if they could spend a part of winter break together? Jorge thinks of skiing holidays, snowball fights and endless nights in hotel rooms where he would only be dominant to play, not to severely punish. God, that would be so hot… He barely suppresses a groan, images flashing up in his head of him fucking Marc until the younger comes undone and then making him come right again. Marc would look delicious, torn between begging for mercy and asking for more, his face flushed, his hair sticking up, his voice completely wrecked.

”Hey, you still with me?”

Jorge blinks surprised, Marc’s voice interrupting his daydreams. He only know notices that the videos have stopped altogether.

”Sorry, just thinking.”

”About what?” Marc’s hand travels down Jorge’s T-Shirt, thumb _accidentally_ brushing a nipple. Jorge thinks he heard a bit of a smirk in his voice.

”You,” he croaks, not quite trusting his voice.

”Oh,” Marc’s hand reaches the waistband of his boxers, slips inside easily. “I see. Well, must have been good thoughts if I go by this?”

Jorge growls, Marc’s fingers closing around his cock and squeezing gently.

”Thoughts of you are always good thoughts,” he whispers breathlessly, hands searching for a way under Marc’s shirt.

And yes, he wants Marc, wants more now, but the best thing about this night won't be the sex. The best thing will be waking up next to Marc and seeing his smile first thing in the morning. That feeling is the best thing.

_That feeling is the best thing_  
_The best thing, alright_  
_I'm gonna place my bet on us_  
_I know this love is heading in the same direction_  
_That's up_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From _Up_ , Olli Murs & Demi Lovato


	12. Avenir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because I can?

“Don’t read it. It’s only going to make you angry.“

Emilio tries snatching the tablet away, but Marc is quicker, turns so he can’t reach the device. And well, the manager knows when he’s lost. And knows that there’s not much he can do against a determined Marc. It’s not like he doesn’t understand, not like he wouldn’t want to know if he was in the younger man’s place. Even if it’s crystal clear, some things people have to see with their own eyes.

Emilio leans against the wall and watches his rider, his favorite. The way his face loses color, the way his brows furrow, the way he chews on his lips. There’s anger, lots of it, in the clenched fists and the tense body, but in his eyes, Emilio sees something else, something that looks decidedly like sadness.

”I don’t believe this. I’m sure he didn’t say it that way.”

The tablet falls on the desk and Marc stomps in the direction of the door.

Emilio opens his mouth, wants to say something. Tries to reach out to hold him back. Marc just hisses at him to better shut up and shoves him aside and he’s already half down the hallway when Emilio wakes from his shock-induced freeze.

_Whatever you do… don’t attack him. Please don’t._

***

The angry banging at his door doesn’t come completely unexpected. Of course, _he_ would have the balls to show up and talk back. Maybe the whole interview hasn’t really been such a great idea after all. Somehow, he’d gotten carried away, with all the bitterness that he feels, all the bottled up emotions, just pouring out of him. But he’s said worse and rekindled friendships more than once, so he knows once he makes it through the inevitable thunderstorms that’s going to be raging in his hotel room any minute, he’ll make up with the youngster. Like he always ends up doing. _For now though… let the fun begin._

He walks to the door, takes a last deep breath and prepares for the outbreak.

”Did you really say that? To the media?”

Marc stomps right inside, door slammed shut behind him, dark eyes glaring daggers at Vale.

”What if?” He replies with a shrug, trying for his most casual and revels in the way it makes Marc flush with anger.

”Why would you do that? Why would you think that? Do you really think that about me? That I’m trying to interfere with your battle? That I’m rooting for _Jorge Lorenzo_? Of all riders?”

***

”Why not?” Vale leans back against the wardrobe, arms folded in front of his chest, wicked grin on his face.

”Because you know it’s not true. Because you know the poster is real. Because you know I really like you. You must know.”

Vale just chuckles, devilishly. It’s infuriating and makes Marc’s heart race. He shouldn’t have come here, Emilio was right. Vale is stirring up some things, that’s all. But still, the things he said in that interview… Marc’s guts twist at the memory. It wouldn’t have hurt as much if Jorge had said something like that, but Vale? Whom he’d confided in more than once? Who should know exactly just how much he adores him?

”I just want the better of you to have the title in the end,” Marc says, voice trembling.

”You know,” Vale glares at him, “I’m tired. Get out now. I don’t want to deal with your childhood issues. Just fuck you, Marquez.”

Marc’s hand freezes on the door handle and he stares at Vale. And that’s when he snaps.

”Is that a threat or an offer?”

***

Vale pulls out, panting, discarding the condom carelessly. Standing with his back against the wall, he watches Marc, chest still pressed on the desk, breathing ragged, pants around his ankles. It takes a while before the younger moves, shaky fingers pulling the jeans back up. When he turns around, his face is still red and his hair disheveled. Vale closes the top button of his own jeans and goes for his most arrogant smile, impatiently waiting to see the hope drain from those dark eyes.

”You can leave now, I’m done,” he says, voice cold.

He can see the shock on Marc’s face, flashing up briefly, before it’s replaced with carefully played arrogance.

”Yeah, you’ve been quick, huh?”

The younger stomps out, limping slightly. And Vale thinks they’re really too easy, these young boys. Always falling for the same little games. Always predictable. He wonders if Jorge knows just how much he has in common with Marc Marquez… and maybe he should tell him? Just to make sure the Majorcan is informed? After all, the less the Spaniards sleep this weekend, the brighter Vale's future looks...

_Je veux que tu vas suffrir_  
_Et que tu vas mal dormir_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Avenir_ , Louane
> 
> ...sorry Vale, you know I love you to pieces ♥ ;)


	13. Walk through the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Mirrors-verse ;)  
> ...post-Malaysia'15, sorry for it being so brief :/ Today's race has been *inspiring* ;) (And I'm sure there'll be more similar ones soon... I'm thinking the same evening in different verses maybe? Or a Run, Lola, run - thingy? Too many ideas...
> 
> New "Come Home" tomorrow I hope, sorry it's taking so long ♥

”Lorenzo. Please. Lorenzo.” The screams echo through their hotel room and the make him come back to his senses, arm freezing midair.

”Oh my God,” Vale falls to his knees, breathes heavily. _I made you use your safeword. Oh my God. I totally lost control._

His eyes fall on the bed where Marc’s entire body is shaking in its restraints, only incoherent sobbing audible. White knuckles are clenched in rumpled sheets and Vale’s stomach twists at the sight of Marc’s exposed ass, propped up on a heap of pillows and marked with countless red welts.

”God, bambino, I’m so sorry.”

He opens the ankle cuffs and handcuffs with trembling fingers, doesn’t quite know what to do, if it’s okay to touch Marc. Now.

All he hears in his mind is a constant _shit, shit, shit, what have I done_ , as he tries to calm down enough to do what he should be doing and taking care of Marc. God, Marc, the boy who trusts him with his life and whom he’d let down twice now, during the infamous interview where he’d lost his temper and then now, where he lost his control, his temper, again. Too far, he has gone too far.

”I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking. There are tears on his own cheeks when he kneels down on the bed, carefully draping himself around the younger. When Marc, instead of flinching or moving away, curls up against him almost immediately, head buried in the crook of the taller man’s neck, hands finding hold in Vale’s shoulders, it makes Vale’s heart ache even more. How could he? They’d vowed to keep the track out of their private life, their relationship. And he failed, twice.

Marc stops sobbing, but he’s still shaking in his hold, winces when Vale pulls the sheets up. He keeps whispering how sorry he is, keeps telling the younger and still knows that it doesn’t change a thing. That he’s let him down none the less. Destroyed lots of the trust they used to have. All of it?

Marc goes straight from sobbing and crying to sleeping, probably completely exhausted. Vale fears the moment they’ll wake up next morning, fears the conversation they’ll need to have. There’s no excuse for what he’s done and still, there’d been that one briefest instant before Marc drifted away, where the younger had blinked his red eyes open and looked at him. And the dark brown eyes had been warm and trusting and as if he felt safe – it makes Vale feel like a monster, that youthful innocence, that undeserved belief in him. He gulps, his hand running through damp black hair.

_I can’t do this. I love you so much, but I can’t keep going like this. I could have… I don’t even know what I could have done to you._

In the back of his head, he knows how disgusted Alvaro would be. Alvaro had taught him better, shown him better. How to be a good dominant, someone to trust and look up to. And with tonight, Vale had let him down as well. When he’d seen Marc there, ass up and wiggling slightly provocative, he’d suddenly seen red, had only wanted to hurt. A bit like on track, where as soon as he felt Marc leaning in too closely, he couldn’t control it, almost involuntarily tried to shake the rival off. Here, tonight, he’d not even wanted to play. He’d asked Marc to do cuddling only, but Marc had been wound up, had asked for this to ground him. And Vale had seen him and lost it. For the first time ever, he’d used the cane only to hurt. Because he _wanted_ , no, _needed_ to cause Marc pain, the same pain that he feels himself.

It’s so wrong, so, so wrong. If they do this, it should be about causing Marc pleasure. Fine, sometimes, that goes in hand with causing pain, but it shouldn’t be the aim to hurt.

”Hey.”

He feels Marc stir in his hold and stares at the younger, guts twisting at the thought of what he’ll say.

”I can hear you think and I’m too tired. Stop it.” Marc leans up enough to kiss his lips and Vale just stays there, frozen and overwhelmed. “I love you, Valentino. Now sleep.”

With that, the younger curls up again and almost immediately starts snoring softly. Vale stays frozen, his eyes full of disbelief, eying his young lover who apparently took a crash course in maturity recently. _You’re more than I deserve. So much more._

_I touch a fire and it freezes me_  
_I look into it and it’s black…_


End file.
